


Mermaid Waters

by enchantedsleeper



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011)
Genre: 18th Century, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Folk Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:38:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enchantedsleeper/pseuds/enchantedsleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirates of the Caribbean 4: On Stranger Tides fanfic. A French cargo vessel strays by accident into the fabled waters around Whitecap Bay. A young woman looks out across the water and is enchanted by what she sees. Philip/Syrena</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mermaid Waters

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, here be another tale featuring everyone’s favourite missionary/mermaid pairing! I want to give a massive THANK YOU ♥ to everyone who contributed to making Forsaken my second-most-favourited fanfic, after Envoys of the Gods, and an especially big heaping of thanks and love to those wonderful readers who left a review. Also, words cannot describe how much I love those who +faved and +alerted me as an author. :D Waking up and checking my Gmail to find all those notifications made my day every time, and you all inspired me massively to come up with this fic idea and write it even earlier than I had intended. You guys rock!
> 
> I originally conceived of this fic idea as a one-shot, but I can see how it might develop into a longer chaptered work. I think I can also predict which one of those my readers will prefer. xD
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Pirates of the Caribbean… Nor do I own Philip/Sam Claflin’s hawt ass. :( But the idea for this story is ALL MINE! I hope. xD

_(Italicised text represents the characters speaking in French. **Bold italics represent singing in English.** )_

A bulky French cargo vessel carefully navigated its way through the black waters around an uncharted bay. There was no sound at all save for a quiet splashing as the prow cut through the water, and the very air around them seemed to be holding its breath. Monsieur Xavier de Montague gripped the edge of the ship hard, his knuckles white and shoulders tense, staring out across the water. This place unnerved him more than it should have done, and for no reason he could really put his finger on. He’d sailed in dangerous waters before, and weathered violent storms – like the one that had lashed down upon them hours earlier as if the Devil himself were in the wind and clouds, knocking them miles off-course. How many miles, they weren’t yet sure. The navigators were as yet in the process of discerning their location and charting a new course, but the very stars had hidden themselves, and no map that they had in their possession seemed to match what they saw around them.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, and Xavier almost jumped out of his skin. He managed to largely suppress the reaction, but he still shuddered with shock. He turned around to see Javert, an experienced sailor and valuable member of the crew, but with many annoying superstitions which sailors seemed to accumulate more of the longer they spent on the water. His predictions of doom and gloom were not what Xavier needed right now. Nevertheless, he arranged his face into a polite expression. _“Yes, Javert?”_

 _“Monsieur, I am afraid that… That is to say, some members of the crew and I fear that we find ourselves in Whitecap Bay,”_ said Javert in a hushed voice.

The name meant nothing to Xavier, but he could tell from Javert’s expression of fear that this was not meant to be a good thing. Wearily he asked, _“Whitecap Bay?”_

 _“You haven’t heard the stories?”_ Javert was shocked. _“Whitecap Bay… the island of mermaids.”_ He shook slightly.

Mermaids. Of all the childish horror stories… _God give me strength._ A part of Xavier marvelled at the fact that such a ridiculous tale, of beautiful sea-creatures who could ensnare a man and drag him to a watery doom, could reduce a hardened sailor to a trembling mess. But the rest of him was impatient at Javert’s incessant fear-mongering. For him to spread this idea around, if he hadn’t already, would be extremely bad for the men’s morale.

 _“Mermaids!”_ he scoffed. _“What a ridiculous idea. Control your imagination, Monsieur Javert. I am in need of courageous sailors on this voyage, not scared little girls. Mermaids do not exist. We are in far more danger of running aground and losing our cargo than falling victim to mythical beasts. Away with you to help the navigators.”_

 _“Yes, Monsieur Xavier,”_ said Javert respectfully, but his expression was sullen. As he turned away Xavier heard him mutter to another sailor,

 _“It’s because of that woman… To bring a woman on board a ship is the worst kind of luck imaginable.”_

 _“Watch your words!”_ said Xavier sharply. _“I will not bear any criticisms of the Lady Eleanor and her position on board this ship. Away with you both!”_ The two men shuffled away.

Xavier looked over to the other side of the ship, wondering if Eleanor had caught any of the sailors’ words. But of course, if she had, she would have understood none of it. Eleanor was the daughter of a wealthy English merchant who owned most of the cargo that they were currently carrying. It was a significant investment. Ill health prevented him from overseeing the voyage himself, and so in his place, he had sent his youngest daughter, whose dream was apparently to experience a sea voyage. Eleanor was beautiful, skilled with a needle and bright enough, but Xavier had yet to hear proof that she understood a single word of French.

 _I could teach her, though,_ he thought as he walked closer to Eleanor, his hands behind his back. Truly, he had thought of making a proposal to Eleanor’s father for his daughter’s hand upon their safe return to England. When the storm had descended upon them he had feared that one or both of them would perish and his suit would be a lost cause, but now he was convinced that God was on his side. Eleanor had not even seemed remotely perturbed by the storm, but rather excited by it. Well, Xavier could take her on many more voyages besides this one if that was what she desired. It would be pleasant to have some female company on the long, dreary expeditions. He did not put the slightest bit of stock in the ridiculous notion that having a woman on board brought bad luck. The success or failure of a trading expedition was purely for God to decide upon.

Eleanor sat poised like a true English lady, back straight, hands folded in her lap, her white dress, which seemed to glow in the darkness, the only truly visible thing on the ship, gathered in voluminous folds around her legs. It hid whatever she was sitting on, but Xavier guessed she must have acquired a wooden stool or such like from below deck. He heard a faint melody, and frowned, wondering where it might be coming from, before he realised that Eleanor was singing.

 _  
**“In London’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty,  
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone…”**   
_

Xavier vaguely recognised the tune; it was a folk song that he’d heard sung mostly in Ireland, but sometimes in England as well, with slightly altered lyrics depending on the singer. This must be the English version. Eleanor’s rendition was slightly off-key, but her voice was sweet and pleasant to listen to.

 _  
**“As she wheeled her wheelbarrow, through Wealdstone and Harrow,  
Crying, ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh!’”**   
_

A furious muttering had broken out amongst the rest of the crew. Xavier heard one say, _“She sings! Oh, God preserve us,”_ and another agree, _“She’ll bring the cursed creatures down upon us!”_ He turned his most furious glare upon the group, and the muttering subsided, but only a little.

 _  
**“Alive, alive-oh,  
Alive, alive-oh,  
Crying, ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh!’”**   
_

Xavier lingered about a foot away from Eleanor, listening unnoticed to her singing, before he was beckoned over by the chief navigator. Reluctantly, he walked away.

 

Eleanor drew out the last few notes of the chorus and lapsed into thoughtful silence. The song reminded her of home, of her mother and her sisters singing it while they did their needlework, but it wasn’t a painful reminder. Unlike Mary, who’d wailed and cried when she’d left home to live with her new husband, Eleanor wasn’t altogether too perturbed at the thought of being away from her family. She missed them, yes, but there was a whole exciting world out there which could never be experienced by staying at home and doing embroidery. Eleanor had always lapped up the tales of her father’s expeditions, and he used to bring her back special souvenirs from the West Indies, the Americas, and India. To travel along on one of the expeditions was a dream come true… though Eleanor had always imagined that she would be travelling alongside her father. She bit her lip as she thought about his illness. Even with the very best treatment that they could afford, his health was not improving. She feared for him, and pleaded with God every night in her prayers.

To distract herself, she began singing the song again, picking up where she’d left off at the beginning of the second verse.

 _  
**“She was a fishmonger, but sure ‘twas no wonder,  
For so were her father and mother before;  
And they each wheeled their barrow, through Wealdstone and Harrow,  
Crying ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh!’**   
_

_  
**Alive, alive-oh,  
Alive, al…”**   
_

Eleanor broke off and stood up. For a moment, she was sure she had seen something ripple in the water not far from the ship. Perhaps it was her eyes playing tricks on her in the darkness. But even so, Eleanor kept her eyes fixed on the spot as the ship moved slowly past.

 _  
**“Alive, alive-oh,  
Alive, alive-oh,  
Crying ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh!’”**   
_

Eleanor took a breath to begin the next verse, but her breath hitched in her throat as a dark head broke through the water in the exact spot where she’d just seen the ripples. She stared, transfixed. It was a man! She was sure of it. But what on earth was he doing in the water? Was he drowning?

Eleanor walked slowly along the length of the boat, keeping the man in her sights. He was looking up at her and smiling. Shyly, she smiled back, wondering if this might all be just a dream, or some flight of fancy invented by her brain, addled by long days at sea. If he was a flight of fancy, he was a very comely one, though it was of course most improper to be thinking such things about a man she knew not at all. His shoulders were clear of the water as well – clearly he wasn’t drowning after all – and she could see that something hung around his neck, though the pendant itself was still submerged in water.

“Please. Go on,” he said to her. His voice was gentle and pleasant. “I like that song. My mother used to sing it when I was a child.”

Eleanor kept walking, hypnotised by the sight of him, until she stumbled against wood and realised that she’d run out of deck to walk along. Despairingly, she thought, _We’re going to sail away! I’m going to lose him from sight!_ But as if sensing her distress, the man began to swim, quite easily keeping pace with the slow-moving vessel.

“Will you sing it with me?” Eleanor asked. His face was so lovely that she was sure his voice would be even lovelier. She wanted to hear it. “Do you know the words?”

“Of course,” he replied, and began to sing,

 _  
**“She died of a fever, and no-one could save her,  
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.”**   
_

Smiling delightedly, Eleanor joined back in,

 _  
**“Now her ghost wheels her barrow, through Wealdstone and Harrow,  
Crying ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh!’**   
_

_  
**Alive, alive-oh,  
Alive, alive-oh,  
Crying ‘Cockles and mussels, alive, alive-oh!’”**   
_

Eleanor felt sad as the song came to an end. His voice was as lovely as she had expected: far surpassing hers in quality and yet melding with it perfectly, a tenor accompaniment to her youthful soprano. She watched him swimming in silence, and for a second the pendant around his neck broke clear of the water. It was a cross, a heavy wooden thing. Eleanor was puzzled, but intrigued.

Before she could say or do anything else, Eleanor saw another dark head break the surface of the water a little way off. It was a woman this time, as beautiful and perfect as a newly-opened spring blossom. Eleanor watched enchanted as the woman began to swim over until she swam alongside the man.

“Philip, who is your friend?” the woman asked. Her voice was music itself: lilting, with a strange, exotic accent, and a beauty to match her face. Eleanor desperately wanted to hear her sing, too.

“My name is Eleanor,” Eleanor replied. “Do you know any songs?”

The woman laughed, and Eleanor wanted to laugh with her, too; the sound was so joyful and infectious. “I know many, many songs. All mermaids do.”

“Mermaids,” Eleanor breathed in wonder, leaning further out over the edge of the ship; she jumped as a shout suddenly sounded from behind her.

 _“MERMAIDS!”_

Instantly, the man and woman disappeared back under the water as a shot rang out from beside Eleanor and the air filled with gun smoke. Eleanor coughed, her eyes watering. She whirled around to see Javert staring down into the water with an expression of disgust.

 _“I knew it. Mermaids! Vile, bewitching creatures, all of them. And you!”_ He turned to Eleanor, who had no idea what he was ranting and raving like a madman about. _“Do you think they are your friends? Imbecile! First you bring a storm down on us and now – this!”_

 _“JAVERT!”_ A furious shout came from across the deck. Xavier strode towards them, his eyes darker than the sea and sky combined. _“What in the name of God do you think you are doing? How dare you speak to the Lady Eleanor in such a manner!”_

 _“There were mermaids!”_ Javert protested, pointing to the water. _“There! I shot them and scared them off. She was talking to them! They had her enchanted!”_

“Eleanor, is this true?” Xavier asked Eleanor in English. “Were there… mermaids in the water?”

“Mermaids? Nonsense.” Eleanor did her best to act as if the whole idea was preposterous. “I was simply singing to myself, looking into the water, and all of a sudden Javert fired his gun at the waves… Perhaps he thought I was singing to a mermaid, but there really was no-one there. It is all in his mind.”

Javert’s understanding of English was enough that he could piece together what she was saying about him. He snarled and cast around for supporters.

 _“There were mermaids! I saw them! Did no one else-?”_ But the rest of the crew looked at him blankly.

 _“God’s blood!”_ Javert swore and stormed away. Xavier looked after him in consternation.

“This irrational fear has made him even more unbalanced than I thought… Perhaps I should prevent him from taking part in future expeditions,” he mused.

Immediately Eleanor felt guilty. She had wanted some revenge on Javert for attempting to kill the mermaids, yes, but this would be going too far.

“Do not act too harshly towards him,” she said. “The perils of the storm and losing our course have been hard on the whole crew. Besides, there is something about these waters that feels unnatural… One could almost believe in mermaids, if there were such a thing.”

Xavier nodded. “You’re right.” He had been feeling exactly the same way not long ago. He was surprised to hear such wise words from Eleanor’s lips, though; maybe she was more than just “bright enough”. He smiled at her. “You speak like a sea captain. Perhaps I should put you in charge of the ship.”

Eleanor laughed, and took Xavier’s arm, and together they walked over to inspect the navigators’ progress and examine the maps to see their estimated location and the new course that was being charted. As they walked, Eleanor glanced back over her shoulder, and thought she saw two heads bob up in the distance, and a hand, raised in farewell.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! You know, that actually wound up a lot longer than I had originally planned. I know there doesn’t seem like there was much Philip and Syrena, but if I continue this, the focus will be back on them; it was only because my darned OCs kept developing personalities and stuff. Damn them and their internal monologues.
> 
> Maybe I should explain the story idea a bit. In the scene where Syrena kisses Philip and saves him, as she pulls him into the water, I could have sworn that his legs were beginning to turn into a mermaid’s tail… But was I wrong about that? I haven’t had a chance to examine the shot again and see, but either way, it gave me the idea for this fic where they’re both mermaids, and it’s an idea I’d quite like to run with and see where it goes. You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to write fanfiction when the alternative is exam revision.
> 
> Also, I hope I haven’t offended any Irish readers by butchering your song about Molly Malone xD I got part of the alternative lyrics – the line about ‘Wealdstone and Harrow’ – from Molly Malone’s Wikipedia page. Apparently this is a genuine version that Londoners used to sing. I figured they would probably have changed the name of the city too in the process.
> 
> I wound up doing a heckuva a lot of research for this fic, on folk songs, sea exploration and 18th century ships… I hope you guys appreciate the effort! X3


End file.
